


Auburn Haired Boys

by MayAChance



Category: Criminal Minds, Supernatural
Genre: Adoption, Gen, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Pedophilia, child molestation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 22:23:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7379815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayAChance/pseuds/MayAChance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two months since He took Sam, two months since Sam saw his family. It hasn't even been two hours since He took Spencer, but He may have made a terrible mistake.</p>
<p>Rape/Non-Con is not explicit. Sam and Spencer are six at this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Auburn Haired Boys

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't even realize how disturbing this was until I started tagging it. Wow. Also I gave up on writing their lisps at some point. Too much work.

The familiar sound of wood snapping pulled the little boy from his fitful sleep. Twigs broke with a quick snap, like the sound a gun made when the trigger was pulled. Unlike that, this sounds was a ferocious crash that had him curling deeper into his self-hug.

Unbidden, a sob croaked through his throat. The sound was muffled by his thin, bare arms.

At first glance, the boy may have appeared dead. His shaggy auburn hair hung over his face and neck, dirty and matted into knots. There was little movement in the boy, but when he shifted slightly his eyes peaked out through is arms. Hazel green in colouration, there was no way to describe the emotion portrayed in them as anything less than pure terror. Skin pale, his arms were rod thin as they wrapped tighter around the boy’s tiny body.

Small, the room in which he lay did not appear comfortable. The walls were ragged, the wallpaper peeling away in places. Beneath that was yellowed plaster. There were no beds or chairs in the room, just a thread bare blanket and a few duffle bags. The boy was curled in a corner, the blanket beneath his head.

The door burst open and a broad man burst in, hauling something behind him. “C’mon, Sammy.” The man grinned, showing off yellow teeth. “I brought you a friend.”

Sam shifted, raising his head. Around his neck was a thick leather collar attached to a thin, but sturdy, chain. “Yes Daddy. May I see ‘im?”

The man cooed, shoving what he had been dragging towards Sam. Startled, the boy caught the thing shoved at him, pulling the ragged bag away from the other. It revealed a boy with slightly auburn hair and hazel eyes.

“This is Spencer, baby. Do you like him?”

Sam’s voice had no emotion when he answered. “Yes, Daddy.” He rested a thin arm around the trembling boy’s shoulders and held Spencer against himself. He smiled, the expression not reaching his hazel eyes.

Again, the man cooed and it was a harsh sound, not fitting of his rough voice or mean demeanour. “Wonderful, Sammy! I think I’m gonna keep him.”

He approached, and Spencer shivered violently as the collar around his neck was attached to a chain similar to Sam’s. The man brushed a hand over the young boy’s soft hair, then backed from the room.

The ragged blanket was snatched from the floor by Sam’s thin fingers. He carefully pulled it around Spencer’s shoulders as the other boy continued to shiver.

“Awe you oh-kay?” Sam lisped, patting Spencer’s back with a heavy and awkward hand. Perpetual tremors ran down Spencer’s back as the time passed; the minutes dragged on. Sam repeated his question, and this time the similar looking boy answered.

“M’ head hurts,” he mumbled. Sam smiled sympathetically. 

“That man took me too. He makes me call him Daddy. I don’t like it.” There was a long pause, then, “He’s a pwofowential offendew.”

Spencer nodded. “How old awe you… Sammy?”

“Sam. I’m six. I’ve been hewe for two months. He took me fwom Dean.” As an afterthought, he added, “Sam Winchestew.” He gently grasped Spencer’s hand.

“Spencer Weid. He took me and I’m six, too.”

They sat in silence for a long minute, then, “I miss my Mommy.”

Sam’s lower lip trembled as he pressed closer to Spencer’s side. “I’ve neve’ had a Mommy,” he said, voice laced with sadness. He looked down at his small hands, and then up at the door on the other side of the room. “My bwother raised me.”

“Tha’s cool. Dean?”

Sam nodded. “He’s four years older than me and he is dad’s favourite. They have a secret and I’m not supposed to know it but I’m gonna find out. It’s not fair that they get secwets if they don’t let me have secwets.”

Spencer nodded sympathetically. “My parents too. Mama doesn’t think that I can handle knowing about her sickness.”

There was a long pause, in which Sam rubbed Spencer’s arm gently. The former seemed to be nodding off against the latter’s side. Sam rested his head against Spencer’s shoulder. A soft murmuring sound escaped him and he nuzzled against Spencer’s shoulder, sleepy brown eyes fluttering shut.

“I don’t think my real dad is nice eithew.” He slipped into a dozing sleep.

Spencer rested his head on Sam’s. “Me too. But Dad doesn’t hurt anyone.” He, to, drifted off.

Outside of the house in which they were being kept, the sun had already dipped below the mountains and the world came to be bathed in darkness.

* * *

Jason Gideon picked up a thick file. He let out a sigh as he flipped it open. He let out another, longer sigh at the sight of the picture that first caught his eye. A little boy, perhaps six but no older than seven, with auburn hair and hazel eyes. The file identified the boy as Carter Sutherland, whose body had been found in a shallow grave outside of Las Vegas. In the area, another boy, similar in appearance, had disappeared from his room in the middle of the night. A Spencer Reid.

Cases with children were always the hardest, he noted as he called his partner over. |”Your book deal needs to wait,” he announced, teasing but serious all at once. “We’ve got an abducted kid and a dead one in Vegas.”

David shrugged. “I’ll grab my bag. Let’s hit the road.”

An hour later, David was speaking once again.

“Definitely a preferential offender,” David said as he examined the images of Carter and Spencer. “Same hair colour, same eye colour, similar features… It’s pretty obvious. But I guess Carter didn’t live up to this guy’s fantasies.”

Jason hummed in response. “Or it appearance was accidentally changed by the Unsub and suddenly he didn’t fit. Poor kid had an anti-mortem broken nose and black eye. He was beaten to death. That’s a lot of anger to be pointed at an innocent little boy.”

He received a nod of agreement. The FBI agents both sat on a commercial flight from Quantico to Las Vegas. The person on Jason’s far side shifted uncomfortably at the agent’s discussion.

The Italian man, David, flicked farther into the case file. “What about Spencer? You reckon he’s a replacement?”

Jason nodded. “Very similar in appearance, it’s the only explanation. Hey Dave, if you were the Unsub, where would you hide an energetic six year old?”

Flicking further through the pages, David replied. “Somewhere secluded. Maybe a house outside of the city or maybe a warehouse. It takes a lot of space to hold a child captive; they tend to be louder captives than adults are.” He glanced at the person sitting next to Jason. “Sorry, are we making you nervous?”

The woman nodded quickly, not verbally replying.

“My apologies,” Jason drawled, but pulled out his badge to show the woman. “We’re with the FBI, investigating the abduction of a six year old boy and murder of another.” He glanced back at David. “The grave was way out. Probably has a place in the outer parts of town and is currently holding Spencer there.”

David nodded in agreement. “It could also be a forensic countermeasure.”

The woman glanced between them in disbelief. She looked horrified by their discussion. “Are you going to find that boy?”

David checked his watch. “Statistics say that he’ll be alright if we find him within the next twenty-one hours. Please, we need to discuss. The more theories we get through the more we know.” Promptly, the woman stemmed off her next question.

Spencer Reid was very small for a six year old. He had auburn hair, leaning towards brown, and bright hazel eyes, flecking with green and gold. He possessed aristocratic features, framed by his curled and lengthy hair. Eyes that were already large were magnified by the thick-rimmed blue glasses that rested, crooked, upon his nose. He had yet to grown into his lithe body, and thus his face still possessed bits of baby fat that made him look younger than he really was.

In sleep, his face was relaxed, lips parted slightly as tiny huffs of breath escaped him. He murmured gently in his sleep, tugging at the ragged, but thankfully large, blanket that covered him and his sleeping companion.

Sam was more angular than Spencer, a clear sign of having too little to eat for too long. His features were sharp, all angles with no softness. Like Spencer, he was a little on the lanky side, but his skin hung tightly against his bones. The young boy was, in a word, gaunt.

Their captor watched the sleeping pair with delight, a deep growl rumbling from his throat. The sound was soft enough so not to wake either boy. Sam murmured something unintelligible as he slept, nuzzling Spencer’s shoulder.

His weathered hand slunk down and he moaned as Sam settled back into a deep slumber. “Beautiful,” he mumbled.

A weathered hand extended to meet with Jason’s and the up and coming young FBI agent shook the detective’s hand politely. “I am Agent Gideon, this is my partner, Agent Rossi.”

“Detective Wilder,” he shook David’s hand. “Good to have you here. We have boards set up just around the corner. I’ll show you.”

Short in stature, detective Wilder was a well-built man with greying brown hair and dark eyes. He had a thick build that made him look powerful despite his short height. Wilder led the agents into the Police Department, and down a long hallway. A door was opened for the agents and they stepped inside, going to the boards to examine the set up.

First was Carter Sutherland, smiling brightly for his school photo. Following this was the image of Spencer Reid, whose expression clearly said that he would rather be anywhere but having his picture taken.

Jason tapped his foot gently against the floor, shewing on his lower lip. “Carter’s abduction doesn’t feel like a first. It’s criminally sophisticated; the UnSub was in the window and out with Carter in a manner of minutes. Not DNA, no mess, nothing. There have to be previous victims.”

There was a hum of response, then, “There are no bodies fitting the victim type. You think he’s kept this first victim?” David paused for a long minute. “His fantasy could require two boys.”

“So who’s the first victim?”

David fiddled with a pen in his hand. “That’s what we need for figure out.”

* * *

When Sam woke up, he knew instantly that the man had been in the room. The scent of stale breath was heavy in the air, stinking of greasy pizza and the same horrible substance Sam didn’t know the name of. He checked the clock on the wall and let out a sigh. Eight in the morning, he noted with distaste. They wouldn’t be receiving the breakfast his stomach longed for until eight-thirty and after that… Sam did the math quickly. It had been, what, five days since he’d last been forced to bathe and thus he knew that he would have to that day. He almost sobbed at the thought. He didn’t want to be forced into that confining space and shoved against the wall. Thankful for the small mercies, Sam knew he wouldn’t be conscious.

Sam tucked his head into his knees and let out a series of muffled sobs. Beside him, Spencer stirred unhappily. “What’s up?” He mumbled. “You okay?”

Again, Sam let out a sob. The never boy wrapped his long arm around Sam’s shoulders. “Is it your hand?”

He shook his head and began to relax under Spencer’s arm. “I’s shower day. He’ll make you come, too.” Another sob escaped him.

That comment had Spencer beginning to tremble, too. “You’ll be okay,” but his voice also shook. “Tell me about your brother.”

Sam released a shaking breath, then assumed a clinical, detached tone that was never found in a child as young as he. “His name is Dean Wincheste’ and he was bown in nine-teen-seventy-eight. Dean was four yeaws old when our mother died and it was on my six-month biwthday. Afte’ that, Dad kept us in our home town of Lawrence, Kansas for a month before he took us on the road. Our family has been twavelling ever since.”

“He sounds awesome.”

Sam looked at the other young boy. “He probably didn’t report me missing. Dad’s not really a… _legal_ … person.” He ducked his head down, pressing it farther into his skinny knees. “They’d arrest him.”

The pair sat in silence after that. “My parents have already reported me missing. They’ll find us soon.

“He took me outside once. With Carter. We’re in the middle of nowhere. They can’t find us here. No one can.” The young boy’s voice was filled with hopelessness. “I’ve been here two months. I know.”

A file plopped onto the table. David glared at it, his dark eyes not happy with what he found.

* * *

Jason, there’s no one who fits the description. Heck, the closest thing is the murder of that little boy two years back,” David growled.

The other federal agent shrugged. “Riley Jenkinsn did live in the same area as Spencer. There were no suspects, but the boys were even on the same little league baseball team despite being two years apart. Riley’s father was their manager and Spencer’s dad the coach.”

“The locals had their own suspect, it seems.” David noted. “Gary Michaels’ body was found about a month later.” If looks burned, the file would be a charred piece of ash. “If there’s a missing kid, we’re not finding him.”

The ferocious tapping of a pen against the table was louder than it should have been in the quiet space. “Maybe the family can’t report him missing for some reason,” offered Jason.

“I guarantee our preferential offender did not kidnap an illegal immigrant.”

“Of course not, David agreed. “But the parents may have been wanted for something or other. He glanced around the sparse room. “School records would show who disappeared.”

* * *

When eight thirty rolled around, Sam poked the other boy’s shoulder. “Spencer,” he hissed. “He’s coming! You gotta get up!”

Spencer let out a soft mumbling noise and wrapped his arms more tightly around Sam’s waist. “S’not time to go yet, Mama.”

“He’s comin!” Sam hissed more sharply, then roughly shook Spencer. The other Boy jolted awake.

“Wha?” Spencer mumbled as he scrambled upright. “I’m up. Who’s coming?”

Sam looked at him like he was an idiot. “The man!”

On que, the door was gently opened. The man entered with a smile that parodied gentle. “Hey Baby,” he greeted the two boys. “Did you two sleep well?”

Spencer shrank up against Sam’s side as he had become accustomed to doing in the past several hours. Sam accepted the other boy’s action, wrapping an arm around the slightly taller boy’s shoulders.

“Yes, Daddy,” he said in a polite but trembling voice. “We both slept very well, thank you.”

The man smiled, revealing yellowed teeth and it was only a parody of kindness. “That’s good, Sammy,” he grinned before turning his attention to Spencer. “Hi Buddy. I’m your new Daddy now, okay?”

Spencer shrunk further back but blurted out, “Yes sir,” when Sam elbowed his ribs. “Or Daddy. I’m sorry!” He cringed.

At the other end of the room, the man’s face softened. “That’s okay, Baby. You’re still learning. I’m sure you’ll be very happy here, just like Sammy is.” The man took a few lumbering steps forward, and knelt in front of the boys. He extended a hand and used it to cup Spencer’s cheek. The extended hand was easily as large as Spencer’s face, but only covered a quarter of it just then. “I brought my poor babies something to eat.”

He backed away and pulled a tray into the room, placing it before the similar looking boys. Sam carefully took a forkful of pancakes and smiled, fake, at the man.

“I’s really good,” he chirped with a fake cheer and the man seemed satisfied, backing from the room. Sam turned to look at Spencer and said in a tone as serious as a heart attack, “East as much as you can. It’ll help.” The newer boy shrugged and took a bite of pancake.

“Why?”

Sam’s gaze was dark. “It’s better not to feel.”

* * *

David held up a file of papers. “Tox screen’s back. Carter was pumped full of morphine when he died. The cause of death was actually an overdose.”

Jason glanced back from the UnSub board. “We’re thinking a medical professional?” He asked, and David nodded back.

“There are high levels, more than is ever in any prescription. Did either boy see the same doctor during an ER visit?”

Careful fingers flipped through a series of pages. “Yes… Carter Sutherland had a bad flu three weeks before the abduction. Fever of one-oh-three and his parents freaked out and brought him in. Spencer Reid was not in the ER at any point… But he did check in one of the boys on Spencer’s little league team. Poor guy fell playing baseball. That was about a week ago.”

David clasped his hands together with delight. “Connection made. Now we just need the files for any other boy who might have disappeared, and records for potential UnSubs. We are looking at anyone who was in the ER while these boys were.”

The other agent did not look pleased with the assessment, but nodded in agreement before sitting down with a stack of files. “Brunet boys aged five to seven years old with hazel eyes.”

“Then cross check with those who stopped showing up for school but were never officially reported as missing.”

Jason groaned. “Can’t we just get the interns to go through this stuff?” His voice was a groan, that of a man who had yet to stop dreaming of not going through thousands of files.

“You trust them with this?”

The dark haired profiler laughed, sullen. “No.” For the most part, interns at the FBI knew what they were doing. But they also weren’t truly FBI. Having not gone through the Academy – bless the place but _damn_ was it a tough school – they weren’t aware of what was useful in a case, and thus it was likely that they would miss he needed details.

David grinned at his partner. “Thought so.”

* * *

When Sam woke up, it was to a painfully familiar sensation. In the last two months or so, he had woken up every five days at around eleven with the same horrible pain that he could even begin to describe and all he knew was that it hurt so much that he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He curled up into himself and let out a choked sob. For a few long minutes, he lay there in relative silence until there was a similarly choked sob nearby.

Sam snapped his head over to look at Spencer and started crying anew. In the past two months, his least favourite thing was being forced to take a bath. He was always unconscious when _it_ happened, but the details didn’t matter and rather the act itself did. But nonetheless, Sam was thankful for the small mercies of life. He knew the words for what happened to him, unlike most six year olds. There were two, but Sam could only bring himself to think of one.

Somnophilia.

The etymology behind the word was innocent. Somno which approximately meant sleep and philia which approximately meant love. Based solely off of that, one would likely derive that somnophilia was simply loving sleep, but the word was not near as innocent as the meaning itself. A little voice in the back of Sam’s mind whispered the second word, but he could not bring himself to say it. No matter how mature Sam was, he simply could not.

Spencer rolled over and looked at Sam with large, teary eyes. “I’ hurts,” he whined. Spencer reached out to the other boy and Sam grabbed his hand, tugging Spencer closer. Sam brushed Spencer’s hair away from his neck and took careful note of the purple bruises.

“I know,” Sam murmured, his tone as soft and comforting as he could manage. “It always hurts.”

The choked sobs continued on as Sam muffled them against his own neck, murmuring soft assurances.

* * *

Jason skimmed a hand over another page of reports. About two months ago, Sam Winchester, an auburn haired boy with eyes that were hazel and specked with green, had been brought to the hospital by his ten year old brother with a broken arm. When Jason looked at the little boy’s image he flinched. He was small and slightly gaunt, similar in appearance to Spencer Reid and Carter Sutherland. “Dave,” Jason called to his partner. “Can you check school records for a Sam Winchester, age six, auburn hair and hazel eyes?”

David ran a hand over the files, digging through them until he pulled a file out. “This him?”

With a quick glance at the picture, Jason nodded. “Yup.”

David skimmed through the file. “Hasn’t been to school in about two months. His brother was pulled out three days after Sam stopped showing up. Wow. He looks a lot like Carter and Spencer. Poor kid. That makes him our first victim.”

There was a bobbing head in reply. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Poor kid.”

“I wonder if he’s still alive.”

David shot his co-worker a glare. “Until we have evidence to suggest that Sam is dead, let’s treat him as though he is alive. Yeah?”

Jason nodded grimly in response.

* * *

As time went on, the pain slowly faded and Sam tried to relax. It wasn’t easy and the room was cold. Spencer had successfully stolen the blankets away from Sam. He let out a huff and tugged at the blanket.

“Give it,” he whined. “I’s my blanket, too.”

Spencer looked over and snarled. He did, though, relinquish about half of the blanket to the other boy and Sam snuggled up in the old blanket.

An hour later, both were more awake and cuddled up beneath the blankets next to each other.

“When’s your birthday?” Spencer asked.

Sam huffed but offered anyways. “May two, nineteen-eighty-two. But we don’t celebrate birthdays with my dad. Dean brings me cake when he can. Our dad would kill him if he knew. When’s your birthday?”

“October nine, same year,” he replied. “My dad gets me a cake every year and Mama gets me books. She likes books too.”

“I like books,” Sam said in a cheery tone. “There’s drama and comedy and my favourites are Sci-Fi, fantasy and non-fiction. Dean and Dad don’t like books.”

“That’s stupid,” Sam grumbled back. “Everyone should like books because reading makes you smarter.”

Sam nodded happy agreement. “Precisely!”

Cuddled against each other, the pair made an adorable sight and not in the creepy way. It was a fact that made the whole thing sadder. They were really just young children, no matter what situation was forced upon them. Both boy’s leant against the wall, though Sam was curled up next to Spencer so that the elder rested against the younger. His freshly washed hair spread upon Spencer’s shoulder. Dark auburn in colouration, there was no distinguishing from one another’s hair, the only difference being the frequency of waves.

Sometimes, when particularly tired and lonely, Sam liked to imagine his mother, who Dean said was sweet and kind, would have pet his hair or maybe washed it.

Ever since the first Fifth Day, Sam had not wished for such a thing.

* * *

Countless hours (more accurately two, as time was of the essence in child kidnappings) passed as the young agents poured over files. They searched for on-duty ER doctors and nurses when all three boys were in the ER. They found the incidents when the morphine was stolen. Twice, to be exact. Two separate incidents had taken place and there had been no reason to believe that any of the ER doctors or nurses had been involved. Eventually, they came up with a name for the UnSub.

Arthur Smith was a fifty-one year old man who worked as a part time ER doctor and had several acres of land forty-five minutes outside of Las Vegas proper. It was the perfect place to hold an energetic pair of six year olds. And perfect to contain their screams, should it have been necessary.

The car seemed quiet, even with the wailing sirens and veritable fleet of howling police vehicles behind them. Despite the evidence suggesting that Spencer and Sam remained alive – if not well – the agents were both tense.

David’s hands gripped ferociously at the steering wheel, his knuckles white against the black leather.

It had been just over twenty-six hours since Spencer Reid had disappeared, and the pair were desperate to find him and Sam Winchester alive.

The likelihood of finding Sam Winchester alive were beyond slim, as it had been two months since his presumed abduction date. Spencer Reid’s chances were much better. Given that they had not yet reached the thirty-six hour mark (at which point the search continued with high hopes but low expectations). Unfortunately, seventy-three percent of abducted children would have been dead at the three hour mark.

The seconds ticked away and David hit the gas, accelerating to the point where they would arrive in about seven minutes.

Both men already wore their FBI bullet proof vests, emblazoned with the three letter abbreviation written in gold. Years before, Jason had said that the letters were in gold because the agents who risked their lives in the field were as good as royalty, no matter what their back accounts (and monarch-less country) said.

Five minutes later, David slammed on the breaks at the front of an aging farmhouse. For a wooden home that had to be at least fifty years old, the door put up even less fight than was to be expected as Jason landed a hefty kick upon it.

They burst through the door, quickly clearing the first three rooms and catching sight of a large figure darting down a series of stairs.

Jason flicked his hand at David and the Italian quickly followed his partner down the stairs.

About twenty steps ahead and a kicked door later, the two were faced by an aging, portly man with a young, auburn haired boy held up against him with a knife.

“Whoa,” David said slowly. “Just put away the knife and we can talk.” His hands parted and his gun was holstered.

Hidden in the shadows of the room was another auburn haired boy, and Jason kept his gun trained on the man’s head as he jerked his head towards the boy. Sam Winchester darted to his side and buried his nose at Jason’s hip. Jason lowered a hand to Sam’s head and rested it there for a second. “Sam,” he said softly, “Buddy you gotta go out the door and up the stairs, okay? There will be officers there to guide you. You’re safe now.” There was a nod against Jason’s side before he lifted his hand back to his glock and the boy darted off.

“You love the children,” David said softly, taking a step forwards, reaching out. “So let Spencer go and he can be safe.” There was a pause. “He’ll be safe with us.”

Arthur growled and tugged Spencer closer. The knife skimmed the boy’s throat and there was a drop of blood, crimson and gleaming despite the dim light, on the blade. Large, pleading eyes rested on David as Spencer abruptly became very still.

The portly man laughed as his other hand moved to pet through Spencer’s hair. It was only barely that the boy contained his sob. “Please let me go,” the tiny boy begged and a rough hand clasped his shoulder.

“I’ll give you what you want later, Baby,” Arthur said to his hostage before returning his perverted attention back to David. “Either I have my boys or no one has them.” The man’s growl was hard and his hand on Spencer’s shoulder possessive. “I’ll make you a deal,” he insisted. “You let my boys stay with me in prison and I don’t kill little Spencer here.”

“You know I can’t do that,” the agent said softly.

Arthur’s hand, knife and all, raised and Spencer squirmed in the grip but could not get free. In quick succession was the sound of two rounds being fired.

A body dropped to the ground and Spencer Reid darted away from the falling form and straight into the arms of David Rossi. Soothing, a hand cared through Spencer’s hair and David lifted the hazel-eyed boy into his arms. He gently pushed auburn locks behind Spencer’s ear and murmured soothingly to the boy, keeping his voice at a cadence vastly different from that of Arthur Smith. David carried the boy away from the dark room and to the waiting ambulance, his sobs muffled against the Italian man’s bullet-proof vest. David rocked the boy gently before passing him into a paramedic’s arms.

The Italian sighed, going to stand at Jason’s side. “They’re both doing well. I think they’ll be okay.”

Jason snorted back. “He was abducted and probably raped by a pedophile, Dave; that’s pretty far from okay. By God I hope that he wasn’t raped.” The pair stood side by side, surveying the chaos.

“There’s almost no chance that Sam wasn’t,” David murmured as he watched the older of the kidnapped boys be examined by one of the paramedics. “He’s been here for two months.”

Jason looked over. “Then let’s hope for Spencer.”

A long silence passed between them. The two boys were unbelievably similar, David noted. They had similar features, with the same big eyes and high cheekbones, and they also had the same iris and hair. Sam had large, sad hazel eyes flecked with green and gold, whereas Spencer’s eyes had not the gold flakes. They had the same curly auburn hair, and if David hadn’t know better he would have sworn them as twins.

He shook his head. “They’re so similar,” he murmured to his partner. “What are the odds of those two boys being kidnapped by the same guy?”

There was a laugh of response. “Astronomically small.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes longer. Then, “There’s no way they’ll let John Winchester have custody. Where do you think he’ll go?”

Again, Jason laughed. “Look at them over there.” He gestured vaguely at the pair, who had come to sleep against each other under the watchful eye of a smiling paramedic. Even in sleep they clung to each other. “I imagine the Reid’s would be delighted to have another son.”

* * *

The sheeters were what most would call scratchy, but to Sam they were the softest thing in the world. Almost obsessively, he ran a hand over the surface and a wide grin spread across his face. Only a bed away was Spencer, who seemed not to be as enchanted with the soft sheets as Sam was.

At the foot of Spencer’s bed was one of the agents that had rescued the two, and the boy was beginning to cry. Agent Rossi extended a hand and waited for Spencer to come to him. Almost instantly, Spencer lunged at the agent and encircled his arms around the Italian man.

Sam smiled. He had never had much trust in law enforcement (with how many times they made his dad disappear and all that) but Agent Rossi was doing a wonderful job of creating it. Sam was a smart boy, and knew that children who had been hurt – and he couldn’t even bring himself to think the words – the way they had been were likely to, for lack of a better term, freak out if they were touched in a was that they subconsciously deemed to be uncouth.

And weren’t those big words to tell Dean!

The tiny boy smiled proudly at the thought before returning his attention to Spencer and Agent Rossi. The former was letting out sniffling sobs and the latter running a hand up and down the boy’s back.

“It’s alright,” Agent Rossi murmured and his voice was warm and soothing, like a sun-heated river flowing over Sam’s ears. He liked Agent Rossi. “Just let it out, Spencer, everything is going to be alright.” Spencer was gently rocked and the young agent continued to speak in the same comforting tone. With time, Spencer’s sobs turned to sniffles and even those slowly stifled away as Spencer slipped into the realm of sleep.

Gentle hands rested Spencer back against his pillow and drew up his sheets. Agent Rossi smiled at the boy, murmuring, “Sleep well,” and then turning his attention to Sam. “Hey there, Sam,” he said with a warm smile.

It was a smile that made Sam feel safe and happy. “Hi Mr. Rossi,” he said shyly and his grin was large.

“How are you feeling?” The agent asked and Sam perked up.

“Like I could run a marathon!”

Agent Rossi chucked. “Maybe another day, Sam. For now you get some rest. Tomorrow Is going to be a long day for you two.”

Sam nodded in understanding. “They’re gonna run the kit.”

There was a solemn nod of response, and then Agent Rossi said, “How do you know about that, Sam?”

Sam shrugged. “Dean told me about it,” he said. “When he and Dad were talking about something or other in Eugene.

“That’s not something most kids your age know about,” Agent Rossi said curiously. “How did Dean know about it? He’s ten, right?”

Sam nodded enthusiastically. “I dunno ‘bout Dean but Dad probably told him.”

Agent Rossi nodded, his movements much slower. “Alright. Get some sleep. I’ll see you again in the morning.”

Again, the little boy nodded and leant back against his pillows as Agent Rossi pulled his blankets over him. “Sleep well, piccolo.”

David emerged from the hospital room and looked at Jason in total and absolute horror. “Spencer’s coping alright, but he is definitely more than just a little bit freaked out. I’m more worried about Sam.” Jason raised an eyebrow, a silent question. “He’s not upset or anything. Just… not caring that he spent two months being constantly abused by a pedo. He told me that they were going to run a rape kit on him tomorrow. How many six year olds know what rape is?!”

Jason let out a long breath. “I hope we don’t find his family. Sounds like he’d be better off in foster care.”

“I didn’t even think that was possible,” David said sadly. “I hoped it wasn’t possible.”

Privately, they both shared the same belief in the foster system; a poorly executed but good idea. With so many children hungry and abused how could it be good? Of course, there had to be somewhere for the orphaned and abused and neglected and abandoned kids to go, but they really did need to do a better job of vetting the potential foster parents. Particularly for things like likelihood of violent outbursts (based on their past and an interview with a psychologist) and whether or not they would feed the kids so that they wouldn’t be hungry (based on income level and an interview with another psychologist).

“I hope the Reid’s take a liking to him.”

“It’s definitely better than foster care,” David agreed.

* * *

Dr. Reid was a tall, thin woman with blonde hair cut short around her face and the same eyes as her son. Big and almond shaped and hazel flecked with gold. A college professor at the University of Nevada, Dr. Reid was as quick as a fox and had a doctorate in comparative literature. She had high hopes for her six year old son (who came to work with her most of the time, seeing as he found his first grade class boring) and, as soon as his teachers decided he had an appropriate amount of social skills, intended to fast-track him into college. Her young son had already expressed interest in teaching, just like Dr. Reid did. Overall, she was a beautiful and intelligent woman who loved her son dearly.

Mr. Reid was stouter, with auburn hair graying with stress. It, like his wife’s, was also short but his far more military and business. Mr. Reid was a lawyer, who passed all of his tests with flying colours. The man working corporate cases, nothing criminal that might have endangered his family. And oh weren’t they his pride and joy! His lovely wife, who worked good hours and was only away for eight hours on weekdays, none on the weekends, and made their son dinner every night. Spener was fantastic, of course, but why couldn’t he be a normal boy like anyone else’s child? Sure, he was smart and would grow up to be attractive but why the hell was he always spouting facts? Maybe once or twice was alright, but who needed to know that, “Car crashes increase ten percent in the first week of daylight savings. Of course, daylight savings is such a wonderful idea,” or that, “Seven percent of Americans don’t know the first seven words of the anthem but do know the first seven words of ‘Oh Canada’”?

They were, for the most part, a lovely couple. Mr. Reid was a little bit bitter, Mrs. Reid was kind but still harsh. Lovely and normal, with problems just like anyone else.

Of course, most six year olds weren’t kidnapped, drugged and raped. But all families had their issues, right?

Some issues were just… _bigger_ …

Dr. Reid slipped into her son’s hospital room, going to sit in a chair next to his bed. The tiny figure stirred and looked up. Instantly, his face was split by a huge grin.

“Mama?” He asked in an excited tone of voice a decibel too loud, “You’re here, Mama?”

The little boy dove at his mother, leaping clean from his bed to his mother’s chair and carelessly enwrapping his arms around Dr. Reid. He curled comfortably up into her arms and rrested his head against Dr. Reid’s chest. Her arms encircled him and Spencer sat happily against his mother and let out a contented murmur.

“You came to see me,” he chirped and his voice was full of cheer and childish delight. “Sam said you would come and he was right!”

“Oh did he now,” Dr. Reid asked. “Tell me about your friend now, will you?”

“Uh-huh!” Spencer grinned up at her and nodded furiously. His name is Samuel Alexander Winchester and he’s from Lawrence, Kansas, which is the sixth biggest city in Kansas and was founded in eighteen-fifty-four and has an area of eighty-nine square kilometres. It has a population of eighty-seven thousand people, too. Sam has a big brother named Dean and he and Sam’s dad have a big secret. He never knew his mama and I think that’s really sad because you’re so wonderful.”

Dr. Reid smiled down at her son and said, “He sounds like a lovely boy, Spencer. Is that him over there?” In her arms, they boy nodded. “He looks just like you. The two of you could almost be twins.”

Almost instantly, Spencer shrank back. Tiny tears began to form in his hazel eyes. “That’s why he took us.” Abruptly he was crying as he clung firmly to Dr. Reid’s clothes.

“Oh darling,” she whispered.

Spencer’s sobs grew louder and in the next bed little Sam began to stir.

“Spence?” He asked, and sat up while rubbing a fist at his eye. “You okay?” More agile than most, Sam leapt to Spencer’s bed and climbed into Dr. Reid’s lap as well, snuggling through her arms and wrapping one of his own around Spencer.

Dr. Reid made no comment.

* * *

“They’re sending him back there?! To the people who didn’t even report him missing! The ones that move every three weeks despite having a boy in grade four! They’re not protecting the boy they’re sentencing him to the life of an undereducated nomad!” Jason’s words echoed through their hotel room, scarcely quiet enough not to be heard by their neighbours.

In agreement, David grimaced. “That creature doesn’t deserve such a wonderful young boy. Sam is clever and sweet. He deserves a stable family in a safe area, not endless travel moving from bad school to bad school.”

The hotel room was a simple one, no different from any other that the agents had stayed in over the course of their long years with the Bureau. There were two beds, both twins that were decorated with covers that hadn’t been washed in months. At the very least, the scratchy white sheets were clean. There was a TV propped upon a low cabinet, and next to it sat a desk with one of those little notepads and a bad pen next to it. The bathroom, thankfully, was clean.

Jason paced the room with long strides and fiddling hands. “And there is absolutely no way we can change this.”

“Well, let’s see here. We could murder John Winchester or frame him or something,” David offered.

There was a pause as Jason considered this. “I bet we don’t need to frame him. CPS will check his record but not as thoroughly as we can.”

David rolled his eyes. “How?”

“Check where they lived and what happened during those times.”

“We’re only supposed to use the archives and interns for investigating people of interest,” David pointed out. He sat at the foot of his bed, legs crossed and hands carefully folded on his lap. “And since we are not investigating the potential for abuse or neglect in the Winchester home and we’re not CPS we cannot call him a person of interest.”

“Yes we can,” Jason said as though it were obvious. It most certainly was not. “Person of interest is such a loose term, my dear David. John Winchester is a person of interest in Sam’s life. As a ward of the state, until Winchester arrives, we government officials can investigate every person Sam has ever come into contact with in any way, shape or form. Especially his CPS-flagged father.”

For a moment David considered his partner’s words. “Okay. What do we need to know?”

“Every town they’ve lived in and the happenings in each town whilst they were there. Then common happenings in each town. Then people who lived in all those places and then we calculate the odds that Winchester is responsible.”

David let out a long suffering sigh. “You’re an idiot.”

“Wh- it’s a good idea!” He flopped into the chair by the desk. “Can catch a terrible parent and give a little boy a good home.”

The firm, once comfortable gaze that belonged to David rested upon Jason like death hung over the sickly and weak. Everything about the man was firm, now, and it was something strange to Jason, who was accustomed to a warm and smiling young Italian. The man before him was as cold as ice. “They will be investigated, and I guarantee that CPS will have that man in prison for a very long time. We catch the bad guys but we must trust others to convict them. Now we have to believe that others are just as good at their job as we are. Sam will be just fine in a short time and we can rest easy in that knowledge.”

There was a long pause. Then, “Alright.”

David raised an eye brow. “So you’re willing to admit that capable people exist??”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

The Italian man let out a long laugh. “Have faith, Jason, Sam will be just fine.”

Jason sat back and let out a long sigh. “Try telling that to all the kidnapped children who aren’t reported missing. To the kids whose local departments don’t know what they’re doing. And the kids that CPS separated from their siblings.

“I wish we could help them all,” David agreed. “But we can’t. We can only believe.”

* * *

Spencer climbed from his bed up onto Sam’s, his mother’s watchful eyes following him. The young Winchester boy was curled around his pillow, head resting against it and eyes fully shut. In sleep, he looked like a little boy rather than a sad young man. Spencer cuddled up to Sam, back to back.

In her chair, Dr. Reid cooed.

When the pair had been curled up asleep for about twenty minutes, the hospital room’s door was abruptly slammed open, and Dr. Reid glanced up in shock.

Young Sam Winchester shot up in bed, bursting into tears. Next to the gaunt boy, Spencer woke more slowly. The latter sat up, rubbing his eyes as he looked at the door. In said doorway was a very tall man, perhaps six foot, with a scruffy beard and dark, mussed hair. Except mussed wasn’t quite the right word- more accurately would have been unkempt. Beneath his horrible hair was a pair of dark eyes and tan skin.

“Sam,” the man snapped in a harsh tone. “We’re going now.”

Behind him was a blond boy of about ten years. He had large green eyes and a smattering of freckles. “C’mon, Sammy,” the boy said. “We gotta go.”

Dr. Reid stood, scooping her son into her arms and hugging his fail body close. Spencer wrapped his arms around her neck.

“You over slept,” the man growled, his dark eyes piercing into Sam with a horrible gaze.

In her arms, Spencer burst into tears, sobbing against Dr. Reid’s shoulder. She hushed the boy and then spoke to the man. “Excuse me sir, but who are you?”

The man turned to glare at Dr. Reid. “John Winchester. That there is my… _son_. C’mon Sammy! We need to be going now.”

Sam, who had looked a little calmer moments before, burst into tears yet again.

“Mr. Winchester,” Dr. Reid insisted, “You son was badly hurt. You’re asking for him to be released against medical advice. The poor boy’s been through quite the ordeal. It’s best if he just rests here.”

Winchester glared at Dr. Reid. “You a doctor, woman?” His voice was gruff and angry, treating Dr. Reid with none of the respect she treated him with.

She blinked. “Yes, actually. I have a doctorate in comparative literature.”

“Not what I meant, woman. Now get out of my face.”

Reluctant in the knowledge that there was nothing she could do, Dr. Reid stepped aside.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Jason snarled. “They gave that boy back to him?!”

* * *

The most recent hotel room was small and distasteful. Two beds, queens, and dirty sheets. Walls that smelled of mildew and a horribly stained carpet. The bathroom was covered in graffiti. Between the two beds was a small, lopsided table and on that rested a cool glass of water just within Sam’s reach. The boy himself rested on the cleaner of the two beds, eyes half closed as he gazed, dead-eyed, at the TV.

It was a report on the death of one Arthur Smith at the hands of a federal agent. Sam flinched when his face appeared on the screen, next to Spencer’s and Smith’s.

Sitting next to him on the bed, Dean rolled his eyes. “Stop being such a baby, Sam. It wasn’t that bad. You wanna know what was bad? While you were gone, Dad and I were in Portland, Oregon where someone was killing nineteen year old girls. It tore off their arms and kept their hair as a souvenir. That was super cool.”

With a soft click, the channel changed. Now it displayed news from California. A new construction plan, an attempted robbery, normal things that happened every day.

It seemed that, to Dean, normal was boring. A few minutes later he let out a loud snore.

Sam looked over at his brother, then poked him. When he didn’t stir, Sam slid out of the bed. His socked feed made quiet contact with the floor and he padded over to a pile of duffel bags. The smallest two he placed to the side before grabbing the final duffel bag and opening it with great care. He reached in and pulled out a small notebook, with a leather cover and lose pages fitting in everywhere.

The small boy flicked through the pages. Each was warn and filled to the brim with tiny black writing. The hand was slopped but Sam scanned the page with careful eyes.

He read aloud, voice near silent. “Demons are the malevolent spirits of hell. We do not know how they came to be, only that they were once human souls who have been tortured beyond recognition. Demons have the ability to possess any human’s form and do so by forcing a ‘cloud of black smoke’ down a person’s mouth. They can be revealed with holy water and the Latin name of Christ, ‘Christo’ and forced from the body with an exorcism.” Sam dropped the book back in the duffel bag then suddenly snatched it up again and whirled around, darting from the hotel room.

He danced down the street, turning a corner with the book clutched tightly in his hands. He darted further down the empty road and came face to face with a young sheriff’s deputy.

The deputy was holding one of those police notebooks and talking with a middle aged woman next to her car.

Sam tugged at his pant leg and the officer looked down. “Just a minute little guy.” He handed the woman the ticket and she returned to the road. “Hey. What can I do for you, buddy?” He knelt so that he was level with Sam.

“I think my dad and brother are crazy,” Sam said in a small voice, handing the deputy his father’s journal. “He’s writing about things that don’t exist.”

“Really,” the deputy questioned, his tone making it clear that he didn’t believe what Sam was saying. Despite his apparent thoughts, the deputy took the notebook and flipped it open. Instantly, his eyebrows rose an inch. “What’s your name, kiddo?”

“Sam Winchester,” Sam replied. “My dad’s name is John and my brother is Dean and my mom is dead. We’re staying at the motel down the street.”

The deputy stood up, lifting Sam into his arms. “Come on, Sam. Let’s get you to the station. We can get you a nice cup of hot chocolate and go over this later, okay?”

“Okay,” Sam agreed happily. Then he looked at the deputy curiously. “Can I see Spencer soon?”

“Who’s Spencer? Is he a friend of yours?”

Sam nodded happily. “Uh-huh. When the bad guy took Spence’ I was already there but then Mr. Gideon and Mr. Rossi came so it’s okay now. His mommy is really nice and I wish I had a mommy like Dr. Reid.”

“Spencer Reid, the missing boy?”

“Yeah.” The deputy lifted Sam into the car, helping him buckle up. “Spencer’s really nice and I like him.”

The deputy smiled gently at Sam, ruffling his hair before climbing into the front seat. “The station is just a few blocks away. Fort Madre is really old but real small, eh?” He looked back at Sam in the rear view mirror. “We’ll be there in just a couple of minutes.” He made a right turn, then drove another two blocks before pulling up at the station.

Unbuckling himself, the deputy smiled at Sam once more. “We can take a better look at this book inside. You coming, little guy?”

Sam nodded, unbuckling himself and closing the door behind him. The deputy grasped his hand, leading Sam inside with a smile.

* * *

When Dr. Reid first held Sam in her arms, she knew that she had two sons rather than just one. Little Sammy was so very small and seemed helpless, curled up on her lap like a baby kitten. She ran her hands through his auburn hair and cradles him and comforted him as best as she possible could. The boy was clearly traumatized and he didn’t really speak to anyone but Spencer. Dr. Reid hoped that Sam would soon open up to her rather than just sending her shy glances every few minutes.

Her husband didn’t necessarily approve of her new attachment, but Mr. Reid also didn’t protest it. He knew that Dr. Reid loved her son and that she would do anything to keep him safe. The second Spencer latched onto Sam, it was certain that Sam wouldn’t be leaving the family for quite a while. Certainly not before he finished high school and preferably after he finished college.

Even if Mr. Reid hadn’t liked Sam, he would have accepted the boy when he learned how intelligent Sam was.

Intelligence meant a lot in the Reid family. Dr. Reid was a well-liked college professor and an expert in her field. The students in her class were of the utmost important to her, second only to her sons. Mr. Reid was a successful business lawyer who prided himself on winning every case no matter how difficult. However, if it ever became a case or Spencer he would choose his son every time. Spencer himself loved reading more than anything else and loved hanging around at the college with his Mama.

(It was when someone was _too_ intelligent that things became a problem for Mr. Reid.)

Sam fit right into the family dynamic of intelligence. He liked to read, and while he had a slight stutter and a noticeable lisp, Sam used large words that were only used by those much older than him. When he and Spencer talked, it was about their favourite books, just like how Spencer and Dr. Reid spoke.

Frankly, it was adorable to see this little boy, so new to their home, be so similar to his new family. Dr. Reid adored the little boy nearly as much as she adored her own biological son. And, with time, she was sure that the tiny, skinny, darling little Sam would build his own place in her husband’s heart, perhaps a tiny nook filled with book and friends.

At that particular moment, Sam lay curled up next to Dr. Reid as she read to them Mark Twain. Spencer was at his mother’s other side with his thumb tucked into his mouth.

Both boys had been taken to the hospital three times since Mr. and Dr. Reid had brought them home. Thank the heaven’s above neither boy had been positive for an STD. Mr. Reid wasn’t sure he could handle another blow to the little boys. On the plush couch, Spencer looked up at his mother and giggled.

Mr. Reid smiled as his other son snuggled closer to his new mother. Slowly, one gaunt hand moved towards his mouth and he began to suckle at it. Mr. Reid nearly cooed at the sight.

It made the business lawyer so happy to see his family all calm and happy and so very wonderful.

“Mama?” Sam said in a very small voice that fit his stature. “Why was Mark Twain such an amazing person?”

Dr. Reid laughed brightly. “Darling, anyone can be wise if they try to be. If they learn to be.”

This caught Spencer’s attention. “Even us?”

“When you’re bigger, yes.”

The living room of the Reid household was not necessarily large, but it was warm and homey. Walls were painted in a warm yellow whilst a white trim circled just beneath the ceiling. There was no fire place, seeing as they lived in Nevada, where it reached thirty-four degrees in the middle of winter. However, there was a large pile of blankets stacked next to a large, fluffy couch. On said couch were Dr. Reid, Spencer and Sam. The couch itself was a sort of burgundy with bright red pillows patterned with a dulled silver that kept the colours from being too much. Dr. Reid sat between her two sons, Spencer to his mother’s left and Sam to the right. Over their laps was a light beige blanket.

Dr. Reid read out, “They put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple. Tom swept his brush daintily back and forth – stepped back to note the effect – added a touch here and there – criticized the effect again – Ben watching every move and getting more and more interested, more and more absorbed.”

The two children at her side looked up in wonder.


End file.
